Coffee didn't help anymore.Tyler poured cup after cup, bitter liquid scorching his throat, but the fatigue clung to him like tar. His body was collapsing, his mind pulling him into sleep no matter how hard he resisted.
And whenever he surrendered — even for a moment — he woke somewhere else.
The first time, he found himself behind the wheel of his own car. The headlights were glowing faintly against a brick wall he didn't recognize, the keys hanging from the ignition. His hands were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that his fingers trembled when he pried them free.
The second time, he was in the alley behind the precinct. His back was pressed to cold, damp brick, shoes soaked from rain, his shirt smeared with grime. A streak of dried blood clung to his wrist. Not his.
The third time, he woke exactly where he'd fallen asleep, in his own bed — but his body told a different story. His legs ached as though he'd run miles. His lungs burned. His tongue carried the metallic tang of iron.
Then came the messages.
At first, he dismissed them as delirium. Notes he must have written himself, scrawled in exhaustion. But the handwriting wasn't his. It was blocky. Precise. Every letter etched with purpose.
The first message read: Stop looking for me.
The next: You'll ruin everything.
A week later: We are not done.
Tyler locked the notebook in his desk at the precinct, convinced he'd put an end to it. The following morning, the drawer was ajar. The notebook sat neatly on top of his case files, waiting for him like a loyal dog.
That night, he taped the doors and windows shut, pushed furniture against the frames, and stacked pans and cutlery in front of the front door. A crude alarm system.
Morning came. The tape was unbroken. The pans were untouched.
But his laptop showed footage from the night before. The camera in his bedroom caught him sitting upright in bed. Awake. Unmoving. His face slack and pale, his eyes locked on the lens.
He stayed like that for hours. Not shifting. Not blinking.
At 3:14 a.m., he smiled.
And the smile wasn't his.